


These Hands Are Not More Like

by yuletidefairy



Category: Slings and Arrows
Genre: Coitus Interruptus, Dead Gay Boyfriend, F/M, M/M, Missing Scene, Multi, Yuletide 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletidefairy/pseuds/yuletidefairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He told himself that ghosts didn't count.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Hands Are Not More Like

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sternel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternel/gifts).



Geoffrey managed to go for about five minutes in his renewed relationship with Ellen before he told his first lie. The lie suffered a similar amount of time before being revealed.

The lie, such as it was, was this: Ellen, with the sort of jealousy that she should have been glad Geoffrey no longer bothered to reciprocate, asked him how many firm young actresses he'd been with, since they'd been apart; how many firm young actors. Geoffrey said none to both, which was true enough, and then expanded to say no one at all.

He told himself that ghosts didn't count.

And so, Ellen's ego assuaged, they went to bed with one another, and there, 'twixt leaping breaths, dreams did come: he who'd shuffled off this mortal coil gave Geoffrey pause. Fingers trailing down his spine, and both of Ellen's hands were in his hair--which Geoffrey realized with a jerk when said fingers clasped his left buttock.

"Ellen," Geoffrey said, urgently. "Ellen. He's _here_."

"What? Who is?" said Ellen, trying to catch her breath.

Geoffrey looked at her beseechingly.

"Oh, no," said Ellen. "Oliver?"

"No, the bogeyman," said Geoffrey. "Who _else_ would it be?"

"The bogeyman," said Oliver, sourly, "I like that! Hmph."

"What do you mean, he's here?" Ellen asked, looking around over Geoffrey's shoulder. Geoffrey almost hoped she would see him--no such luck, though.

"I mean, he's sitting beside us groping my ass," Geoffrey said.

"I don't understand," said Ellen. "Isn't he a ghost? I sort of thought he was transparent, or something."

"Transparent? Our Oliver?" Geoffrey scoffed. "He's positively _dense._ " He turned his head to glare at Oliver.

"I don't know what you mean, dear boy," said Oliver, happily stroking Geoffrey's rear.

"Would you stop that?" Geoffrey said sharply, only too late realizing that Ellen had been about to cup his face in her hands. "Are you trying to ruin even _this_ for me?"

" _Is_ this some kind of self-sabotage?" Ellen wondered.

But Geoffrey didn't have the mind to respond, because Oliver, still stroking, said, "Ruin it? If only you'd kept your mouth shut and not bothered Ellen's pretty head about it, I could have made it the best sex you'd ever had with her!"

"You are fucking full of yourself," Geoffrey said, and Ellen pushed him.

"Get off, get off, get off," said Ellen, and unfortunately she seemed to mean for him to move bodily off of her, rather than the other sort of getting off. Geoffrey rolled onto Oliver's lap, and Ellen yanked the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself fetchingly, if somewhat belatedly.

"What the devil is she wearing that for?" Oliver asked.

"What _are_ you wearing that for?" Geoffrey echoed, pushing up on his elbow.

"I feel silly pacing naked," Ellen confessed, "and according to you, Oliver's sitting right there!"

"What, is she afraid I'll ravage her?" Oliver asked, petting Geoffrey's hip. "It was only the once, and it was seven years ago, for God's sake."

"You're not _helping,_ Oliver," said Geoffrey.

Ellen whirled and stared. "What did he say?!"

"Ah," said Geoffrey, "that you look as lovely now as you did seven years ago."

Ellen snorted. "Now I know he's in your head, the real Oliver would never have said _that._ "

Geoffrey grimaced. "Well, I lied."

"Tell her I said her tits are sagging," Oliver offered.

"Oliver, you think _all_ women's tits look saggy," Geoffrey reminded him.

"He _what_?" shrieked Ellen, clutching the sheet protectively over her offended anatomy.

"Ellen," Geoffrey said coaxingly, "he's gay. He thinks any superfluous material in the pectoral region looks ridiculous."

"My tits are not superfluous!" Ellen said. "If he's really here, if he's a ghost or whatever, then he's damn well _not welcome in my home_ if he's going to make comments like that! And if he's _not_ here and it's all in your fucking head, Geoffrey, then _you're fucking well not welcome either!_ "

"Well?" said Geoffrey, looking up at Oliver. "You heard the lady."

"I'm not leaving if you're not," Oliver said, folding his arms.

"Oh, fucking hell," said Geoffrey, and got up to get his clothes.

Geoffrey settled in on the couch downstairs, putting a few garments back on--there was no sense tempting Oliver with the expanse of bare flesh. As Geoffrey pulled the boxers over his cock, wincing, Oliver offered, "I could help you with that."

"No, thank you," Geoffrey said stoically, and lay face down on the cushions. In the asylum, he'd gotten used to completely ignoring that desire, because whenever he masturbated, therapy the next day was disturbingly Freudian. That was the real reason he hadn't slept with anyone until (Oliver) Ellen again. It was a habit he'd gotten out of. And no one had inspired him to overcome that until he'd come back to New Burbage. (Really, there probably _was_ something Oedipal going on with his relationship with Oliver. Geoffrey could deal with that as drama, but not as a diagnosis.)

Oliver perched on the end of the couch, legs swinging, crossed at the ankle, and said, "Dear boy, this was supposed to be _nice_. A _present._ "

"If you weren't an utter bastard and, you know, _dead_ ," Geoffrey said, "there's a remote chance we could have had a nice threesome. Too bad you didn't think about _that_ before you walked under the pig truck, you old queen."

"I'm not interested in a threesome," said Oliver, "I'm interested in _you_."

"You would want me to choose, wouldn't you," said Geoffrey. "You always did have to be the most important person in anyone's life. I don't know, Oliver, I might even have chosen you _if you were alive._ Your being dead puts a crimp in you being boyfriend material, because it makes _me_ look like a raving lunatic!"

"You were a raving lunatic long before I died," Oliver pointed out.

"Would you shut up and _go away?_ " Geoffrey snapped. After a moment of silence, he risked a glance over his shoulder: Oliver was gone.

So when Ellen came down in her dressing-gown, there was no Oliver. She said, "Geoff--look, I'm sorry--I know I said I'd help you if he came back, it was all just a bit--sudden."

And because there was no Oliver, Geoffrey turned over and said, "I didn't mean to scare you--it was probably just an aberration. He's gone already."

"Is he?" Ellen asked, sounding flushed. She sat down on the edge the couch and ran her nails up Geoffrey's arm, and Geoffrey kissed her hand. "He's really gone?"

"Like he was never even here," Geoffrey promised. There was a clatter in the kitchen. Ellen didn't react.

"So, do you want to--?" Ellen asked suggestively, leaning over him.

Oliver came out of the kitchen carrying a cup of coffee. He leaned on the door frame to watch them.

Here Geoffrey committed his second lie: he didn't tell Ellen that Oliver was there. "Ah," said Geoffrey, "why don't we go back upstairs? It'll be more comfortable in bed..."

"I don't know," Ellen fussed, "I feel like that room is cursed or something now. I know it's stupid, but--"

"It's utter nonsense," Geoffrey said. Oliver sipped his coffee, pinky finger in the air. "How will we ever get through _MacBeth_ if you take an attitude like that? Come on, up we get."

They went back upstairs, and Geoffrey glared eloquently at Oliver over his shoulder, and Oliver said, "No need for the evil eye, dear, I know where I'm not wanted." And if Geoffrey felt an itch between his shoulder blades as they made love (actors always know when they're being watched), he didn't look (actors are good at that too) and Oliver didn't touch (directors, at some point, have to let go).

Geoffrey woke up in the middle of the night and thought he saw a ghost flit past the doorway. He didn't know what to do or say without revealing the lie to Ellen, so he only sighed and went back to sleep.


End file.
